‘With a friend.’

Something peculiar in Dymes’s glance caused her to add, ’A German girl, an art student.’  Whereat the musician nodded and smiled.

’And what’s your idea?  Come now, let’s talk about it.  I wonder whether I could be of any use to you —­ awfully glad if I could.’

Alma was abashed, stammered her vague projects, and reddened under the man’s observant eye.

‘Look here,’ he cried, with his charming informality, ’didn’t you use to sing?  Somebody told me you had a pretty good voice.’

‘Oh, that was long ago.’

‘I wish you’d let me hear you.’

‘No, no!  I don’t sing at all.’

’Pity, if it’s true.  I want to write a serio-comic opera, a new sort of thing, and it struck me you were just cut out for that kind of singing.  You have the face and the —­ you know —­ the refinement; sort of thing not easy to find.  It’s a poor chance, I’m afraid, coming out as a violinist.’

Half inclined to resent his impertinence, yet subdued by the practical tone and air of superior knowledge, Alma kept a grave face.  Dymes, crossing his legs, went on with talk of projects he had in view, all intended to be lucrative.  He had capital; nothing great, just a comfortable sum which he was bent on using to the best advantage.  His songs would presently be bringing him in a few hundreds a year —­ so he declared —­ and his idea of life was to get as much enjoyment as possible without working over-hard for it.  The conversation lasted for a couple of hours, Dymes growing even more genial and confidential, his eyes seldom moving from Alma’s face.

‘Well,’ he said at length, rising, ’it’s very jolly to see you again, after all this time.  I shall be staying here for a few days.  You’ll let me call tomorrow?’

At once glad and sorry to see him go, Alma laughingly gave the desired permission.  When, that evening, she looked at her unfinished letter, it seemed such a miserable whine that she tore it up in annoyance.  Dymes’s visit had done her good; she felt, if not a renewal of hope, at all events the courage which comes of revived spirits.

The next day she awaited his arrival with a pleasant expectation.  He entered humming an air —­ another new composition —­ which again she caught from him and played on the violin.

’Good, don’t you think?  I’m in great vein just now —­ always am in the spring, and when the weather’s fine.  I say, you’re looking much better today —­ decidedly more fit.  What do you do here for exercise?  Do you go to the Englische Garten?  Come now, will you?  Let’s have a drive.’

With sudden coldness Alma excused herself.  The musician scrutinised her rapidly, bit his lip, and looked round to the window; but in a moment he had recovered his loud good humour.

’You’ll hardly believe it, but it’s the plain truth, that I came all this way just to see you.  I hadn’t thought of coming to Germany till I met Miss Leach and heard about you.  Now I’m so far, I might as well go on into Italy, and make a round of it.  I wish you were coming too.’